Hetalia- The Nomad Country
by Ashburntstars
Summary: They say that there was a vagabond country, her home overrun, with no place to go. She traveled around the world, as did her people. She kept her fading culture and language with her, the responsibility of running a country leaving her shoulders as she made her travels. But she never forgot, and she never stopped hoping for the day that her country would be revived once more.


_They say that there was a vagabond country, her home overrun, with no place to go. She traveled around the world, as did her people. She kept her fading culture and language with her, the responsibility of running a country leaving her shoulders as she made her travels. But she never forgot, and she never stopped hoping for the day that her country would be revived once more._

England was having his evening tea when he heard the door knocker. He got up from his armchair by the fire hearth and opened the front door. A blast of frosty air chilled him as he was met with a pair of dark violet eyes belonging to a young woman. Despite the bitter air, she looked content, cheerful. Her eyes glimmered with sunlight, her long gypsy-like cloak was colourful with braids and beads hanging from the waist. She carried a fairly big knapsack on her back that had all sorts of amulets and charms falling out from it. Her hair was long, dark and wavy, on her head was a princess braid that ended at the back of her head with a jasmine flower that England presumed to be fake since any ordinary flower would have been torn apart by the snowstorm.

"It's freezing out there, come inside," said England as he beckoned her in.

The girl came in gracefully and looked around the house with awe, "You have a nice taste in decor," she said with a british accent.

Her accent surprised England, assuming she was foreign. He cleared his throat, "So, what is your business here?"

The woman looked at him with determined eyes, "Please sir! Let me stay here for a few nights! I'll work for room and board!"

"This isn't the 1920s, why not go to a hotel?" asked England.

"Well, they don't let me in because of _what I am_."

_What she is? I suppose because she's a foreigner, but that still sounds strange._

"Well, how can I trust you? Just a stranger who barges into my house, demanding that she stays here," England raised his nose, attempting to scare her off.

"Well, I can sign a contract if you'd like! You don't have to pay me anything, I'll clean your house, cook for you, do your laundry! I just need to stay somewhere for a few days! You wouldn't leave me out in the middle of a snowstorm, would you?"

That made England stop. _Damn, she cornered me._

"Well, since you put it that way... I guess you can stay for the night... and for a few days if you must, but if you don't keep your word I'll kick you out!"

The woman's eyes lit up, her mouth burst into a wide grin, she even laughed.

"Thank you! Thank you! I'll never be able to repay you for your kindness! I promise I'll stay true to my word! Oh thank you!" the woman looked like she might even hug England, she was so happy.

"It, was, err, nothing," England cleared his throat, "But, might I ask, what's your name?"

"Sariell Lej," she chimed.

"Right, I'm Arthur Kirkland," _That name doesn't sound from a country I know of, _"This way to your room."

England lead her up the carpeted stairway to the guest room. It had a single bed with a few strewn quilts and pillows over it. A bookshelf was on one of the walls, filled with old, dusty history books. There was a small dresser beside the bed that had small blue flowers painted on it.

"Here you are," England said as he made way to leave the girl, Sariell, to herself.

"Wait!"

England turned back, "What is it?"

"Uh, if you don't mind, could I perhaps have some supper? I haven't eaten anything all day," the girl looked a little embarrassed at the question as she clutched her stomach.

"That's fine, but you'll have to cook it," England left.

He went down the stairs back to his sitting room, where he was reading his favourite Charles Dickens novel with his earl grey.

After half an hour a delicious smell wafted from his kitchen, his stomach growled. He hadn't had much to eat either, today was a bad cooking day, even worse than usual.

Eventually England found himself in the kitchen, watching the girl, now with a turquoise bandana around her head, stir a strange sauce in a pot with two cuts of lamb England bought the day before. She was humming what sounded like a folksong to herself. She looked truly, very happy.

England cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"Machalepi Lamb," she answered.

"It smells good," he admitted.

She looked up, "You think so? Would you like to try it?"

"Alright."

The two sat at the table, steaming plates of this strange smelling food.

England began eating but stopped when he saw his company. She had her hand positioned strangely in front of her, they were clasped together except for her index, thumbs, and pinkie fingers which were extended and touching at the tips. She had her thumbs touching the tip of her nose and her index fingers in the middle of her forehead, the pinkies extended upwards. She was muttering words in a language he'd never heard. She was over as fast as she started and when she opened her eyes and saw England looking at her she only smiled, "An old tradition in my family."

"Ah," England took his first bite and was surprised at its deliciousness.

It was juicy and tender, it tasted like almonds and cherries and roses, but meaty as well.

"This, is very good," England said as he ate more, his stomach loved the not charcoal-ness of it.

"Really? Thank you! It's an old family recipe," Sariell ate daintily.

After they finished she had a strange amber-gold liquid, she called it 'Bardizg'.

It tasted like honey mead, but with a strangely salty-like taste with bumble berries.

_Very strange. Good, but strange._

"Have one of these," she offered a strange blue-violet leaf.

"Thank you?" England took it with apprehension, _what am I supposed to do with this?_

"See, you put it on your tongue and it melts," said Sariell, demonstrating.

"Is it candy?" asked England.

"Sort of, it's marinated leaves, we store them in this sap and they get really sweet and soft," she explained.

England tried it and a burst of raspberry crossed with a tangy apple flavour spread in his mouth.

"Where did you learn all this unique culinary?" asked England.

"Well, from my village."

"Where is that?"

"You wouldn't recognize it."

"Tell me anyway."

Sariell looked up at England's intent bright green eyes. _Like the lush leaves of the forest. _she thought.

"Uyokaiz," she said.

"You're right, I don't know it."

"Well, thanks-" they said at the same time.

"Sorry, you go first," said England.

"Well, thank you for your hospitality, without you, I don't know what I might've done," said Sariell, her eyes grateful.

"Thank you for the meal, Sariell, now I must be off to bed," England said, doing a sort of head nod before leaving.

Sariell took a few minutes to rinse off the dishes before going upstairs. She heard Arthur brushing his teeth and went into her room. The contents of her backpack were already all over her room. Many jars full of preserves and seeds and nuts. Small bottles filled with spices. Bells hanging from ribbons, small dolls and ornate hair clips with little jewels in them. She also had a strange instrument, a copper pipe with an apparatus attached to it that had strings run through small holes in the pipe. It didn't seem to make sense, but Sariell knew how to play it well.

England was settling down in his bed, reading his Charles Dickens novel when he heard the strange music. It was flowing and soft, but the melodies bounced and swung. It seemed like sounds were being pushed and pulled in a current of ease. He felt his eyelids become heavy, the sound lulling him to sleep. His last thought was, _am I being enchanted by this strange, beautiful girl?_


End file.
